Stay
by Nightwise
Summary: Can't you stay?" Cunningham asked.


Stay

**Stay**

**Author's Note:** Man! I have no idea how long its been since I have written an IGPX fanfic. (And yes I have written one!) This is my first mature rating fanfic in the IGPX section. Just to clear things up I'm a dude (and happily engaged) and I write fanfiction. (Random I know.) I hope you enjoy this. Please read and Review. PEACE

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Koichi Mashimo and Production I.G. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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"How long can you stay?" Cunningham asks from the bed, lying on his stomach.

Amy laughs. "Well, considering I'm trying," she swats his hand away and smiles bemusedly at him, "to get dressed; not much longer." She does the final clip on her bra, and turns back to face him. In a slow moment, she has made her way to be down on her knees, pulling his face softly towards her. A kiss, gentle.

"And besides, this is my house," she flashes a cheeky grin.

"So if anyone is going to be leaving…"she trails off, winks, and jumps back on her feet, attempting to find more of her clothes from the mess surrounding them. She turns around, swinging her hips slightly in his direction as she does, and no sooner finds herself flung back down on the bed, with Cunningham's weight resting on top of her.

"Alex," a murmur, green eyes playful.

And then finds his mouth back on hers.

The only cloth between them is what is left of her misguided attempt to redress: a bra, and some sedate panties. He is just bare skin.

Hands wander idly for the first few seconds; the kisses are slow, relaxed, gentle; like a lazy Sunday. Then the kisses grow fierce, possessive; hands no longer gentle, but grabbing and clenching and grazing across skin. Cunningham's hands are on her back, fingers tickling the small of her back before moving up and somehow unhooking Amy's bra in fluid motion. His mouth leaves hers, and he is kissing her neck, her collarbone…

"Whatever happened to the womanizing, playboy who has had all kinds of women chasing after him?" she asks, voice amused but distinctly hitched, breathless. Amy's hands clasping his shoulders.

Cunningham's lips leave her skin, and then his blue eyes bore down into her brown as he adjusts himself over her.

"I guess that playboy," a kiss, a grind of hips, "just found the woman he loved," his voice slow and tender, and then his lips pressed against hers quickly before they shower her face, soft and gentle.

"I guess so," Amy chokes, and she expects to have to will tears back, but there are none, just a sweet smile on her lips, blush on her cheeks. He smiles at her, kisses said pink cheek, as he makes his way down again, innocently, boyishly; betrayed by his hands, as they slip off her panties. Her hands bury themselves in his hair, light brown, rich, full in her fingers.

Her nipples are already hard when he reaches them, but he still lets his fingers brush across them in something mixed between wonderment and desire. Her laugh is low, hollow; at the look on his face, but the laugh disappears as quickly as it came when his lips descend, latch, to her breast. He nips and sucks and licks, and she withers and moans at his touch. Is hand works the other breast gently, cupping the full weight in his hand, squeezing, soft exploration, one finger still brushing across the nipple.

Then his lips move, his head buried in the crevice between, soft kisses against soft skin. Her hands move then, from hair down to his sides and then to his front, taking him full in her hands. She feels his body jerk against her. A smile on her lips, she is in control, quick as that.

"Amy…" A breath, sharp, and then her hands are moving against him, around him; stroking and tracing and caresses. His mouth is against her neck, and she thinks wryly that by the time she goes to Team Satomi conference room she is going to look mauled, between now and what is still left from the night before…

The first night before.

And then he is hissing as she feels him building against her hands, and his lips are on hers in an instant and in between kisses he is halfheartedly begging her to stop, strained whispers.

"Why?" she murmurs, breaking free, "You're allowed to have fun as well, you know," voice still breathless, still amused.

Cunningham looks down at her, exasperated, like she is the most illogical creature he's ever seen. Her hands brush him as they let go, tracing around his front until her palms are resting on his sides and her fingers are pattering against his ass. He blushes (more) but doesn't stop the train of thought.

"Amy," he begins, voice earnest, "I'm a twenty-eight year old guy and I'm naked in bed with a girl who also doesn't seem to have much—"

"—anything-"

A sigh.

"Right, anything on," he kisses her smirk away, "—How could I not be having fun?" Blue eyes are wide, questioning, and if she hadn't know him for so long, if she hadn't been there every day she could be for him, if she wasn't already in love with him, and if he wasn't a guy; she would have thought to be being serious, but she has, she is, he is, so she knows that he isn't.

She kisses him again, then pulls back slightly.

"You're such a man," and she can feel the rumble in his chest against hers as he laughs.

"Mm, well, things might be a bit different if I was a woman," Cunningham murmurs with a wry grin and she lets herself giggle softly. His hands have moved from her hips and the pads of his thumbs are tracing her cheeks, his smile is soft and his eyes…

They kiss again, for a few moments this time, and she savors the taste of him against her lips and this time it doesn't think she could part with if he was still around but they weren't.

"Now," a breath against his lips when she knows it is time, and then a smile from him before he kisses her again. His hands move from her face, where he cups her cheeks, and come down to rest on her thighs; fingers tracing against soft skin. He's on his knees between her legs next, positioned somewhat blindly, so her fingers come down and guide him in, and again this time, he buries himself within her without preamble, not like the first time when it was new and familiar and slow and rushed all at the same time but like the second where the only thing they were interested in was being one again.

And he stays like that just for a moment, like he has the times before and how he thinks he'll do it every time after, just to feel her, to be reminded that he is really there and that nothing has or will ever be able to feel so amazing, never be able to make him feel just like his does at that moment.

His hands move down her thighs and clench at her sides before he starts to move inside her. Thrusts, slow at first then speeding up with the pace of their breaths and moans and screams and the sweat is back as he goes deeper and deeper, plundering, searching. Her eyes have closed and her head is swung back, neck resting on the bed with her head hanging off the edge.

"Look at me," Cunningham says, in between thrusts, and then she is being pulled back and her head is resting on the bed and her eyes are open and have met his.

The look in Amy's eyes is enough and then there are hisses of yes and cries of names and throaty moans as they find each other and their bodies rack together and the sweat makes a clapping noise as they finish and pound against each other; a breathless pile.

Silence.

"We really need a shower," Amy murmurs several moments later, chin resting against his hair, with a disdainful scrunch of her nose as she looks down at their figures. He's lying on her, head pillowed by her chest.

Cunningham tilts his head up, kissing the hollow of her throat as he speaks, "Mmmm, I think I quite like that idea," hands brushing against the skin of her stomach, idle circles traced. She shivers.

"I meant separately."

"I'm pretty sure that you never explicitly stated that." He moves so his arms and legs are on either side of her, pinning her to the bed.

"There must be some room for interpretation…"

**_Fin_**


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